


Bewitched, Besotted, Bewildered

by MercurySkies



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fae Shane, Familiars, Getting Together, M/M, Magic, Miscommunication, Protection Magic, Shyan Mini Bang 2019, Supernatural Ryan, Witch Ryan, Witch Shane, Witchcraft, Witches, shyanwritingevents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurySkies/pseuds/MercurySkies
Summary: 'Fae are tricky people. Shane is trickier.'Names are powerful things, when Shane seemingly knows Ryan's without him ever having told him, his true motives are called into question. All Ryan has to go on are the lessons taught by fairytales and his own instincts. Ryan attempts to learn about Shane's true nature as Shane tries to accept himself, despite the misconceptions and fears of others.A sequel toWhat’s in a name?





	Bewitched, Besotted, Bewildered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Shyan Minibang which this year focused on Supernatural!Ryan. This fic gave me the run around but I really wanted to write a sequel to my previous fic [‘What’s in a name?’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467806/) to explore the differences in the boys’ magic but more specifically highlight how Ryan relates to magic and how he deals with being thrown into a situation where he’s unsure if he can trust his own judgement. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Fires.

Witches possess the cheat sheet for navigating modern life. Ryan's 'tips and tricks’, as he refers to them around those who don't know his secret, make living a little easier. An invigoration spell in his protein shake, muttered healing magic over the potted plants he was supposed to care for whilst his friend was out of town. A hasty incantation has saved his ass on multiple occasions. Modern living is fast paced, often chaotic and Ryan favours taking a couple of shortcuts. A potion brewed in the microwave here and a poultice prepped in a food processor there. Most of the time these modern methods work like a charm, others the whole thing backfires, literally. It really is lucky his mother taught him all the cleaning spells she possibly could.

Magic is just one of the tools Ryan has at his disposal but it is by far the most important to him. Magic comes in many forms, it can be taught but a natural predilection is inherited, passed down through generations. Both of Ryan’s parents come from a long line of witches and with the transmission of their magical know how comes a sense of their culture, their heritage that Ryan shares. Ryan’s spiritual connection to his magic is sacred, it ties him to his family, to their stories and history and although he may skip a few steps when brewing his grandmother’s traditional sleep remedy, cut a few corners, he still treats the knowledge of it with the utmost reverence.

Ryan loves magic, feels it vibrant and thrumming through his veins. He often wishes he could use it more often, more openly, but history so often repeats itself and although persecution against witches has lessened over time, making them once again just a staple of fairy tales, it has by no means disappeared. He doesn’t doubt there would be many out there that would kill him for his gift, cursing him as unnatural, against God. They’d be wrong of course. Magic is drawn from the earth and the elements and it’s the holiest thing Ryan knows.

So Ryan keeps his magic to himself, to his family and others like them. He has rarely crossed paths with other witches, has only known acquaintances of his parents and the odd friend he’s stumbled upon.

Shane is a new phenomenon. Shane who is not only a witch but has fae blood coursing through his veins, one foot on this plane and the other in the next.

It’s safe to say that Ryan has been bewitched by him, entranced. Being around Shane is like breathing in cool, frosty air, refreshing and calming. He always seems to dance around his forest hideaway, moving with strange grace and confidence. He can glimpse the fae parts of him, a captivating gaze, warm and mischievous, eyes that shift and shimmer in the afternoon sunlight. In time, Ryan has learnt to see past the dazzling aura of Shane’s heritage and see the witch beneath, soft smiles and hunched shoulders, the love he has for his cat and familiar, Obi. The different facets of Shane combine to make a man so charming and goofy and likeable that Ryan never stood a chance at resisting him.

Which is how he finds himself, frozen in place in the middle of a coffee shop, with Shane having just called his name. Fae are tricky people. Shane is trickier. Perhaps this had been his plan all along. After all that’s what fae do. Trick people out of their names, their identities, their free will. Ryan turns on his heel and walks out, heart pounding.

“Ryan, wait please!” Shane calls frantically, hurrying out from behind the bar, jostling many caffeine deprived customers in his haste. He follows him all the way outside and Ryan turns on him, thrumming with seething anger and _fear_.

“Keep my name out of your mouth!”

“It's not what you think!” Shane tries to placate him and it only serves to make irritation flare in the pit of Ryan’s stomach. He takes a step back with every one Shane takes forward.

“It's not what I-” he starts but the anger quickly dissolves into hurt and confusion “I don’t know what to think, I was gonna get your number, I was gonna ask-” He cuts himself off, caught between fear and the genuine look of panic on Shane’s face.  Ryan shakes his head “I don’t know, I guess you got what you wanted.”

“I don't want your name!” Shane grits out, looking frantic, the panic morphing into something desperate, something on the verge of loss. It's the most affected Ryan has ever seen him and it makes him pause.

“I don't want your name.” He mutters, like he’s just realised they’re close to yelling in the parking lot of his workplace. “I’ll call you whatever you want. I don't want your soul or whatever you think it means I can take from you. Please believe me.”

The words trip over themselves and Shane looks to be on the verge of begging. His words are quick and clipped, slurring and hissing in places as if there's a lisp there he often works hard to hide. He takes a deep breath before continuing, seemingly steeling himself.

“The only way I'd truly want your name was if it were your last.” He shrugs with a bitter smile, the joke not so much landing as plummeting toward the asphalt beneath their feet.

Ryan pauses, considering. The clouds seem to part and weak sunlight catches on the slight tip to Shane’s ears, his nervous eyes grow dark as he fiddles anxiously with his apron. He doesn’t know this man. He knows nothing about Shane beyond the boundary of the forest. He has trusted him too readily, easily. He has to go.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” Ryan asks and Shane opens his mouth to speak but he doesn’t allow another word to leave his silver tongue. “Your kind always lie.”

“My-” Shane flinches. Ryan’s stomach drops. That was harsh, too harsh, but the possibility it might be true stops him from taking the words back. He leaves, not wanting to face the hurt on Shane’s face, it's authenticity be damned.

 

* * *

 

Time slips through Ryan’s fingers like silk. He makes it to work in a daze, wanders around the office with his heart pounding. He’s never been so scared in the light of day. Every second is spent thinking about when his life will stop being his own, waiting for the inevitable loss of control, when he starts to drift through his life without his consent, like a puppet on a string. Every minute that passes, that he remains aware of his own panic, cognisant to the smallest choices he makes, has worry mounting. Doubt also plagues him, suddenly distrustful of all instincts telling him to be wary of Shane. Shane who talks to Obi in a sweet sing song voice when he thinks no one is listening, who croons softly to his herb garden, who grins every time Ryan does even the simplest magic.

It doesn’t help that the first thing he thinks about doing when he gets home, having floated his way through work, powered by anxiety alone is to call his mom. He doesn’t though. He’s unsure how to explain to his mother that he’s been hanging out with a strange, fae witch in a remote area of the woods for the past month and he’s a little in love with him but also there’s a distinct possibility he’s stolen his soul. That’s bound to garner a lot of parental disapproval and Ryan just can’t face that right now. Besides, he’s never heard his mom mention knowing or ever meeting anybody who happened to be fae or part fae. It’s highly likely that the only information she’d be able to offer him would be stuff he already knows from fairy tales and myths.

Ryan may not trust Shane, especially not with his name in his possession, but he has spent enough time with him, seen enough kindness in him, to consider the possibility that the fae may not entirely be as they’re depicted in stories. A myth is not a reliable source. So he resolves to do what he does best: Research.

He drags his laptop out of his bag and throws himself haphazardly onto his couch and gets to work. It feels almost as if he’s doing research for another episode of Unsolved except out of all the supernatural beings he searches for proof of he already has proof of Shane’s existence. He trawls through forums and online archives, skims through the fairy tales and fables of his youth but... nothing. Nothing new, nothing that supports Ryan’s gut instinct to trust Shane.

Everything he’s found says the fae are beings of mischief and trickery. Which, having spent a lot of time with Shane, Ryan can confirm to be true. Mischief is a permanent fixture in the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the ever present smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Shane is playful and sometimes scathing, mocking and teasing until they're both doubled over laughing. If Ryan is being truthful he already misses it, the banter and warm familiarity but even as his heart starts to beat rabbit quick with the remnants of his crush, the fear he's falling prey to an elaborate trick hangs over him like a rare L.A rain cloud.

He makes a list, jotting down everything the internet tells him is characteristic of the Fae. The physical characteristics he can somewhat confirm. The slight point to his ears, a shifting and seductive gaze, unearthly grace. He reads a little about glamours, how some Fae use magic to make themselves appear more human. Ryan hasn't seen any evidence of a glamour and he's not sure Shane would have much use for it considering he's only half Fae. He moves on quickly from the 'physical attributes’ list, finding himself spending too much time imagining Shane's boyish grin and broad shoulders. A crush is not the most convenient research companion.

He trawls through page upon page of personality traits and behaviours but the deeper Ryan dives the more nebulous the list becomes and he can’t help but feel a little indignant at how disparaging some of the sites are.

 

_The Fae are liars and cheats..._

 

It seems a little presumptive. Everyone can lie and cheat, it’s not unique to the Fae. As long as Ryan has known him he hasn’t heard Shane utter anything more than the odd white lie, and he rarely even seems to cut corners let alone cheat. Shane differs from Ryan in that he does most things by the book, and in most cases, literally. His cabin at the grove is lined with shelf upon shelf of ancient looking tomes, their contents on anything and everything from spell casting to potion making, familiar care to magical horticulture. Shane is an old fashioned witch in that he does everything by the letter, never skipping a step or taking a shortcut. It’s in juxtaposition to his general goofy and laid back nature but he is oddly cautious with magic, whereas Ryan is the exact opposite.

Ryan loves to experiment with magic and weave it into his everyday life. His mother used to leave him notes, lovingly drawn protection sigils, in his lunch when he was a little kid. He mixes invigoration and healing potions into his morning coffee and carries poultices meant to soothe anxiety in the pocket of every hoodie, jacket and coat he owns. It’s as intrinsic to his day to day activities as electricity or WiFi. Although there is a tradition behind the magic he uses, every spell and concoction passed down from generation to generation, he often deviates from the instruction of his ancestors and forges his own magical miracles and his fair share of magical mishaps.

Magic has always felt curious to Ryan, prodding him to explore and investigate, energetic and inquisitive. His experiments may often go awry, such as when he attempted a sleep remedy that made him temporarily unable to blink, but it somehow always encourages him to get it right the next time. Sometimes magic calls for new experiences, he can feel it tugging him toward risks, toward recklessness. Magic is a thrill thrumming within and Ryan doesn’t understand how Shane can so often shy away from it. Being Fae, Ryan had assumed Shane would have a close connection with magic but perhaps the skills of the Fae lie elsewhere.

 

_The Fae are capable of stealing one’s identity and/or free will via:_

 

And then there’s a list. Ryan rolls his eyes. Ryan is scared shitless of potentially losing his free will but even he can admit this website is a little melodramatic.

 

_accepting their gifts,_

 

Shane hasn’t given Ryan any gifts so he quickly types 'no data, cannot confirm’ next to the bullet point.

 

_accepting hospitality,_

 

Ryan has drunk plenty of tea and eaten his weight in popcorn at Shane’s and has yet to experience anything odd. Surely if accepting hospitality was enough Shane would have snatched his life out from under him weeks ago? He adds an ‘unlikely’ next to that one.

 

_deals and trickery,_

 

Asking for a name because you’re a barista and it’s your job isn’t exactly an act of deceit? Was their entire friendship a ruse?

 

_or possession of a name._

 

Well, shit. So Shane knows his name and it’s the Fae equivalent of Ryan having handed him his social security number, credit history and bank account details. If that were true though, if Shane were truly some menacing being of the other world set on kidnapping him or making him his puppet, surely he would’ve done so by now.

Ryan laughs hysterically, having found himself unceremoniously back at square one, the scales still balanced, tipped neither in Shane’s favour or against him. He rubs at his eyes, well aware that it’s long past midnight and filled with anxiety at the prospect of sleeping.

He resolves instead to spend the night researching possible remedies to ‘enslavement by Fae’ just in case his eyes should fall closed against his better judgement.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Obi,” Shane calls tiredly as he takes his first steps into the grove “it's just me bud.” He reaches a hand down and Obi immediately bumps his head against it. Obi starts to twist and turn, trotting in and out of Shane’s legs. He mews inquisitively. “Nah, no Ryan again today bud.” He sits down heavily on the grass, dropping his bag at his side and scratching Obi sadly under the chin. “I don’t think he’s gonna be coming around anymore.” Obi sniffs at him, rising on his haunches and placing his front paws on Shane’s chest so that he can bump his head against his chin. Shane clutches him close, bundling him into his arms and burying his nose in his ginger fur.

Obi’s purr is loud in his ears and it’s days like these that he is unimaginably grateful for the presence of his familiar. He'd adopted Obi as just a small, rambunctious, teen aged cat. He’d had the attitude to match, constantly chewing through cables and knocking over every ornament and potted plant he ever laid his eyes on. Shane was, and still is, more than a little lonely, and the presence of another creature in his apartment and in his little forest hideaway was more than welcome. As they got to know each other, Obi quickly cemented himself as a smart and more than magical little menace. The familiar bond was created quickly and now Shane can't imagine his life without him.

He feels a small, rough tongue briefly touch his cheek and he laughs wetly.

“Gross dude.” He says, flipping Obi over so that his belly is exposed. Shane manages to ruffle a hand in the fur there before he wiggles indignantly and moves to sit up, watching him with a sympathetic and unblinking gaze.

“The cat’s out of the bag.” Shane sighs. “He thinks we’re one of those ‘ _tricky fae_ ’ and this has all been an elaborate ruse to enslave him or steal his soul or whatever.” Obi lets out an offended mrrph at this, his tail twitching behind him. He knows he has every right to feel the same, to feel judged and scorned. In truth he just feels sad. Ryan is just scared. Scared of what he doesn’t know, what he doesn’t understand. Sure it sucks to not have been trusted enough to explain, to have lost a friendship over someone’s misconceptions, but this feeling isn’t new to Shane. Even in magical circles being fae is looked upon with suspicion, distrust cast upon you before you even earn it.

It’s been a long time since magic was as all powerful as the stories say, the Fae aren’t what they used to be and it’s debatable that they were even anything like what they were said to be. If being Fae awards him any extra abilities Shane is none the wiser. He’s aware of his affinity for bets and wagers and games of chance, has really had to reel himself in on a couple of Bachelor parties in Vegas. His heritage’s influence over his everyday life is infinitesimal. So sometimes he has to be careful how he phrases things, seemingly harmless turns of phrase such as ‘I owe you one’, carrying a little more weight. So the customers he serves at work linger a little longer than those who’s drinks were made by a colleague. Its tiny, uncontrollable magic, seeping out into the world with no ill will and negligible effects.

Shane's babcia had once told him stories of their kind, of the prideful Fae of far off lands, living in their gilded halls beneath the hills. She'd said that they were the keepers of the other world, the messy inbetweens, they knew what was and what wasn't, what could and couldn't be. The Fae kept the world making sense, guarded each plane from the secrets that would throw all existence into question. They lived in the other world, separate and guarding the borders of time and space, thriving where they overlapped. Even as a child Shane could make no sense of it. He didn't feel like some magical protector of reality, helping the mere mortals maintain their sanity by keeping the secrets of the multiverse. But if the tales were even remotely true then it was clear where their reputation had come from, a need for secrecy, to protect and preserve is too easily seen as just plain shiftiness.

Shane admires Ryan for at least giving him a chance. Ryan may be fearful and skittish around the unknown, especially the magic that is unknown to him, but he trusts his instincts, had trusted Shane until he'd accidentally given him reason to do otherwise. Shane is kicking himself for that small mistake, that small glint of his nature making itself known and scaring Ryan off.

He stumbles to his feet, the joints in his knees popping and grinding as they're wont to do. Shane doesn't feel like he has the power to bewitch or ensnare anyone, let alone Ryan, one of the strongest witches he's ever met. Shane envies his ability to exist with magic always at his fingertips, sunny smile beaming like it's out of this world, crafted to spread warmth and joy. Ryan is so in tune with magic, carries it with him, let's it entangle itself with everything he does. Shane can't do that. He won't do that. Part of him worries that what Ryan sees in him is true, that if he embraced that thrum in his veins with the same reckless abandon Ryan does then he'd become something he doesn't want to be, someone that abuses magic to manipulate others, to dirty reality and warp the truth. Shane is careful where Ryan is reckless but Shane's magic is stagnant whereas Ryan's is always changing, always growing.

He hobbles toward the cabin, Obi trotting along beside him as he opens the door, sighing as the scent of wood and the warmth of his hearth welcomes him somewhere safe, somewhere he can exist without judgement. He turns toward the small kitchenette, boiling a kettle of water for his usual cup of tea and stares out the window. The gentle breeze has the hydrangeas swaying and he smiles a small, sad smile at the memory of Ryan's delight as he'd watched the colour of the blooms shift from green to blue to purple to pink as Shane magically manipulated the pH of the soil in real time. Ryan's mark will forever be left on Shane's tiny home away from home, and it's bittersweet how it'll remain better for it, even if both he and it will always long for his return.

The shrill whistle of the kettle coming to boil startles him and Obi meows at him disapprovingly from his perch on his shoulder. Shane must've been miles away to not have noticed Obi's claws as he'd scrambled up to his perch and it's a long way to climb. “I know I know I'm sorry don't add to the noise by caterwauling in my ear stink boy.” Shane chides, moving carefully to brew his tea. Obi sighs as if exasperated by his human but butts his head against Shane's ear in a sign of affection nonetheless.

Shane carries Obi and his tea out into the small lounge and stops short. There, laying on top of the strewn around blankets and pillows on his couch is one of Ryan's jackets. It's the light blue denim one, adorned with a few quirky pins. Shane remembers how it'd looked stretched across his shoulders, slung over a hoodie on the day he'd worn it to the grove a few weeks back, the California winter unusually biting.

What does he do with it now? He can't keep it can he? It doesn't fit him and to keep it would be weird wouldn't it? If he kept it would Ryan come back to get it, would it give him a chance to explain? He stands, stock still in the doorway for so long that Obi eventually gets fed up, claws digging in a little harder than necessary as he clambers down from Shane's shoulders. He leaps straight up onto the couch and toddles over to the jacket, prodding it insistently with an outstretched paw.

“You think I should return it? I dunno, I don't think he wants to see me.” Shane runs a hand through his hair tugging at the strands until they stand up on end. He could easily get his address. But wouldn't that be creepy? Showing up at his place, unannounced and without having been invited or even given the address personally would just add fuel to the flames wouldn't it?

Obi meows softly and settles down on the jacket, little fuzzy head tucked into the collar. Shane feels something lodge in his throat and he swallows, padding quietly over to sit next to his little orange son. He sinks his fingers into his fur and Obi begins to purr, eyes shut tight.

“I know bud, I miss him already too.”

Shane shuts his eyes and listens to his cat's purr, to the gentle song of the breeze dancing in and out of the wind chimes out on the porch, to the quiet creaks of the wooden walls and the sounds of the forest beyond settling as dusk falls.

“I'll return it. Just with a note. I'll leave it in the mailbox. Then he can decide.” He says to the empty air and to Obi. Anxiety already coils deep in his belly but he watches with affection as Obi snuggles against his forearm on top of the jacket and feels something like hope sprout in his chest.

 

* * *

 

“Curly, Curly I need you to come over like right now.” Ryan hisses into his phone as he stands in front of his apartment's open mailbox. His heart pounding with a mixture of fear and affection unlike anything he's felt before.

“Mary, Jesus and Joseph, calm down baby boy.” Curly groans like it's too early to be dealing with Ryan's panic despite it being well past noon on a Saturday. “Chill out, what's going on?”

“I need you to check something for enchantment, hexes, curses, the whole nine yards.”

“Why do you need _me_ to check it?” Curly whines.

“Because I'm losing my mind over here dude, anything I try is hardly gonna be accurate,” he hesitates before continuing “and I'm biased. I really, really, _really_ don't want it to be cursed.”

“Generally speaking no one wants stuff to be cursed Ryan. But I'm guessing this is either about what it is or who it's from.”

Half an hour later Ryan finds himself standing next to Curly, the both of them staring at his open mailbox in the lobby of his apartment complex.

“That’s your denim jacket.” Curly says simply as they continue to stare at the mailbox. “Unless this perfectly average item of clothing is especially important to you I’d say I’m here because of the _someone_ that thought to return it.” Ryan is quiet, knowing there’s no point in making things more difficult and attempting to lie to Curly. When he doesn’t respond Curly carefully approaches the mailbox. He reaches inside tentatively as he closes his eyes. He mutters something under his breath as he passes a palm over the jacket in the small enclosure of the mailbox, careful not to touch it.

Curly was right to complain, Ryan is more than capable of checking the article of clothing himself for any untoward magicks. Objectivity is important though and Ryan’s magic has always been muddled by his feelings, a nasty curse could slip past him just because he desperately wants the returned jacket to be hex free.

“As I suspected!” Curly exclaims, clapping his hands. “Completely harmless.” He picks the jacket up, careful not to drop the note perched neatly on top and deposits it unceremoniously into Ryan’s arms. He strides toward the elevator. “Let’s talk, angel. I bought wine.”

“It’s 2pm.”

“ _I bought wine._ ”

Curly ushers him into his apartment, bustling around his kitchen and grabbing the only two wine glasses Ryan owns. He settles himself onto the couch next to him, passing him a glass with an eyebrow raised. He rests his chin on his palm, waiting patiently.

“I met a guy.”

“Yes!” Curly whispers in triumph and Ryan tries his damnedest to ignore him even though the heat in his cheeks means he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. He trips and stumbles his way through telling him about Shane, trying to be as honest as possible whilst trying not to sound like a complete idiot.

“You’re a complete idiot.” Apparently he hasn’t succeeded in the latter. Ryan opens his mouth to protest but Curly shushes him, wine sloshing around dangerously in his glass as he shifts upward on the couch. “Let me get this straight. You hung out with the guy for like _months_ , he let you have free reign of his super secret magical lair, you did mushy lovey dovey magic with him, he let you snuggle his familiar, he made you _tea_ , he boosted your _WiFi_ ,” he lists, pointing at each of his fingers in turn “but because he’s fae you think he’s gonna steal your soul?”

Ryan huffs, crossing his arms. “Well when you put it like that...”

Curly drains his glass and pushes it onto the coffee table with a dull clatter. “Look, I’m proud of you, you weren’t sure and you were careful” he squeezes Ryan’s shoulder sympathetically, “but you’re overthinking this. The evidence suggests that he’s just some guy that by the looks of it, is totally into you.” Ryan rolls his eyes but smiles all the same. Curly bumps their shoulders together and smiles encouragingly. Despite all his teasing Ryan knows Curly has only ever wanted what's best for him. “Annnnnd,” Curly sing songs, “you like him.”

After an hour and a half of additional, non-fae related gossiping Curly takes his leave, graciously allowing Ryan to keep the bottle of wine he'd so generously bought along. Ryan stares down at his jacket and then turns to the attached note, written in Shane's precise handwriting. Tellingly, the note doesn't bear Ryan's name.

 

_Hey,_

_You left this at the grove and I wanted to return it in case you needed it. It's getting strangely cold for California, reminds me of home._

_I know this is maybe super creepy cause I found your address so I knew where to return it to but I'm not stalking you or anything promise! I just thought you should have it back._

_I also washed it. Obi has taken to sleeping on it and I know you're allergic even though you pretended not to be because he's my familiar. He misses you. You know where to find him if you ever want to visit. If you don't, that's fine, just don't be a stranger to the forest, nature is there for everyone._

_Thanks for a fun few months little guy,_

_Shane Madej_

 

Ryan clutches the short note to his chest before folding it to stuff it into the inside pocket. There, he notices a small symbol, sewn into the lining and something squishy already in the pocket. The symbol he immediately recognises from the little notes his mother used to put in his backpack when he was a kid. In silver thread, Shane has sewn a small protection symbol into the cotton lining, so small that Ryan wouldn't have spotted it if it weren't for the bright lights in his apartment and the feel of the stitches as his fingertips searched for the inner pocket.

Heart pounding he plucks out the contents of the pocket. He holds the small gauze bag delicately in the palm of his hand. He carefully tugs it open and immediately his head is filled with the scent of lavender and dill, the contents a concoction of dried herbs and flowers all imbued with calming magic, meant to soothe anxiety.

It is such a sweet addition to an already lovely gesture that amidst the surge of affection he feels guilt begin to suffocate him. The signing of Shane’s full name at the end of his note is also not insignificant. Curly is right. Ryan's own instincts had been right all along. The reason all the stories and the articles had felt so wrong was because he already has all the evidence he needs. Shane is nothing but a sweet and silly, magical man. That's the pure, unadulterated truth, no trickery, no smoke and mirrors. Shane is an otherworldly oddball and Ryan is oh so into him.

 

* * *

 

Something is off. Shane has felt off kilter since his confrontation with Ryan, but that’s mostly down to the potent concoction of repressed feelings and disappointment swimming around in his gut. No this is different, just a feeling, a sense. Call it an inkling, a hunch but the air around Shane seems to shiver with nervousness, a little like impending doom but a little less dramatic.

Once upon a time Shane would've simply shrugged the feeling off. It’s anxiety, his crush like feelings he's pointedly ignoring manifesting in a sense of restlessness. Maybe it's all the tea he drinks and he needs to switch to decaf. Now that he's had Ryan in his life, his approach is a little different. Ryan has forced him to start letting himself be privy to his feelings’ whims, to really _feel_ them for a while before labelling and categorising them and packaging them neatly away. Shane has always wanted to connect with magic in the way Ryan does but he works differently, thinks more in tangible causes and effects rather than the ebb and flow of energy. But magic and his gut instincts are often in tune with each other and both are screaming at him that something isn’t right.

The forest has visitors. It’s not uncommon, the forest is open to the public after all but he starts to see them regularly, loitering along the same paths Shane uses, the rare and untrodden inroads of the woods that only he knows. It’s bizarre, but he shrugs it off. He doesn’t own the forest, it’s perfectly possible that someone else has discovered and fallen in love with it’s hidden depths.

It’s as simple as that until he catches their eye and a shiver, cold as ice, rolls through him and he freezes. There is something wrong about them, something otherworldly that seems familiar and foreign at the same time. At the front of the group stands a girl, small and fragile looking with long brown hair and dark eyes. She looks at him with such hatred, such disgust that he finds himself flinching and fleeing, worry settling uncomfortably in his chest as he strides toward the safety of the grove.

The bizarre group haunt him from then on, he catches glimpses of them wherever he goes. They feature in his dreams so often that he can’t tell whether the phantoms of them he sees amongst the throng of people he sees every day are just a figment of his sleep deprived mind or if they’re truly stalking him.

Eventually they show up at the coffee shop, talking in hushed whispers and glancing at him from time to time from where they’re clustered together in a corner booth. He's sure he doesn't know them but they seem to know him. He doesn't approach, the hair on the back of his neck raising every time he goes near. They seem out of place and out of time, their clothes and demeanour drab and old fashioned amongst the decidedly modern and colourful clientele they usually get at the shop. Part of him has him scolding himself for judging them but that feeling of wrongness, the anxiety churning bitterly in his gut is persistent. The girl still seemingly seethes with anger. She's very clearly the boss, even though she is half the size of her two hulking lackeys. She moves with an odd sort of grace and her eyes are cold and sharp. Just looking at her makes Shane shiver as if the frigid nature of her gaze is trying to freeze the blood in his veins.

They're there until close and when Shane is finally free he races toward the grove, desperate to feel its warmth. The fact that they’ve found his work place has fear coiling around his veins and squeezing until he can feel the blood pulsing in his ears. Obi senses his unease straight away and flits between his legs as Shane strides toward the small cabin. Obi is restless and loud, mewing incessantly as if in askance. Shane feels bad for worrying him but he’s safe now, they’re both safe. He just has to warn Ryan.

Shane had promised not to contact him again, but if this trio of ne'er do wells is enough to unsettle Shane something must be up with them. He scribbles out another note, trying not to write something that'll spark panic whilst being unable to quell his own growing anxiety. He kisses Obi on his fuzzy little forehead and runs from the cabin, the wind chimes on his porch jingling angrily as he passes.

The path back to the road and his car is a well worn one, if only visibly so to Shane alone. The forest is quiet, only the subtle creaking of the trees as the woodland air cools for the night and the soft chatter of the nocturnal fauna coming out to forage and hunt. It is as calming as it is every night but since Ryan's absence dusk has seemed a little less magical and the forest a lot more empty.

Ryan hasn't so much as visited the forest in a long time now and it's devoid of his magic, the residue of his light completely gone from the brush and canopy alike. It's one of the worst things about the whole debacle. The forest is denied his presence and Ryan is devoid of a sanctuary, a place he would come to clear his head before Shane interfered.

The least Shane can do now is try and protect the both of them.

 

* * *

 

Liquid courage is what Ryan needed. He's succeeded in acquiring it, a night on the town before tomorrow's attempt to beg for Shane's forgiveness. You just don't let the kind of guy that sews a protection sigil into your jacket slip through your fingers. That's not something a guy that's out to steal your soul would do so it's back to plan A to ask Shane out should he ever forgive him.

The fates are on his side as he trips slightly on his way into his building and glances at the wall lined with mailboxes, his eyes drawn automatically to his own. Maybe he has secretly been harbouring the hope that Shane would leave him another note and seemingly he was right to hope. His heart leaps in his chest as his eyes zero in on a small corner of paper sticking out of the slot. He hurries over, fumbling with his keys and wrenches the thing open.

He reads the note furtively, heart climbing up his throat with each blurry word. Suddenly, he’s stone cold sober. The note is of course from Shane but gone is his usual precise, if scratchy looking, handwriting, replaced with a messy scrawl, the message penned in a hurry. Accompanying it is a small amulet, made of a black metal, it bears a symbol of protection similar to the one Shane had stitched to the inside of his jacket. Ryan clutched the amulet to his chest and breathes deeply, eyes closed as he stands in the middle of his apartment complex’s lobby. The magic the amulet is imbued with is potent, incredibly strong. Shane’s mark is stamped on it clearly, the protection magic forged with great feeling, great affection.

He squeezes the pendant tight in his fist before tugging it over his head. There is no time like the present and he turns and leaves, marching back out into the night and toward the forest.

 

* * *

 

Shane knew something was wrong the moment he pulled up to his usual spot at the edge of the forest. The downside of living his life in two separate worlds is that he has to drive out of the city to reach the woods and his own forest hideaway. A great wave of sheer panic washes over him as soon as he’s back on the road, the plume of smoke rising from above the trees, visible as he approaches the forest’s edge, confirms his fears.

He grinds the car into park and falls from the car, not even bothering to close the door as he races toward the trees. Branches and thorns tear at his clothes and skin but he keeps running, tripping and stumbling over stray rocks and gnarled tree roots. He has never been so glad that he knows this forest like the back of his hand. As he nears the fork in the path and the overgrown path that leads to the grove the trees become thick with smoke, ash trapped in the air beneath the canopy of leaves. It stings his eyes and the wisps that would usually light his way are dim and indistinct. The smoke settles stagnant in the air like fog and the air is acrid and hot.

His heart breaks when he can finally see the entrance to the grove and flame has engulfed it in its entirety. The protective walls of foliage have been burnt away and beyond them his cabin and small garden collapse to the ground, the wooden structure no match for such a blaze.

Shane watches on in a haze, mesmerised as fire tears through his home and sanctuary. It is beyond saving. He kneels on the ground at a safe distance and casts an enchantment over the clearing, a veil intending to suffocate the fire and keep it from spreading to the surrounding forest. Thankfully the nearby trees and shrubbery are only singed and those closest and entangled with the grove can be encouraged to recover over the next few months and years.

Once contained, trying not to choke on sobs and the smoke trying desperately to fill his lungs he searches for his main concern: Obi.

He yells and screams himself hoarse, calling for his familiar over and over. He must be safe. Obi is usually too careful and skittish to stick around if something doesn't feel right to him and there are plenty of quick exits that he could have used as soon as the fire was set. That doesn't stop the worry from ripping Shane's heart to shreds. Shane trips and stumbles through the surrounding foliage, coughing as smoke lingers in the air even as the majority of it stays contained within the small sphere he’s created.

“Obi, please buddy.” He begs, eyes streaming, from the smoke or tears he can’t tell. The enchantment does nothing to block out the roar of the flames ripping through the grove and he strains to hear even the faintest snuffle from Obi. “Obi!” He yells, over and over. He tries to use his magic to search for him but he can’t concentrate, his magic sparking and fizzing, completely uncontrollable. “C’mon Obi, it’s safe now, I’m here.” His voice is weak, barely a croak and he sinks to the floor where the air feels clearer, leaning his back against a tree. He tries to breathe evenly, swipes furiously at his eyes as he tries to gather himself.

There’s an indistinct shuffling from the brush to his right. A croak of a meow sounds above the crackling cacophony of the blaze beyond that has Shane scrambling on his hands knees toward the sound, mud and grit sticking to his palms and knees. With shaking hands he carefully shifts the prickly branches of a bush aside and cowering beneath them is his orange boy. Shane lets out a choked sob of relief as Obi inches forward, out from his hiding spot and into Shane’s arms. He fusses over him, checks every inch of him to make sure he’s okay. He’s a little dusty, ash and debris clinging to his thick, ginger fur but he’s no worse for wear. He worries about the smoke but Obi seems to purr up a storm, safely encompassed in Shane’s arms as he shuffles away and slumps back against the old oak. He clutches him close and closes his eyes, just for a moment.

Ryan finds them like that, hours later, a witch and his familiar curled up against each other on the outskirts of their smouldering home. Ryan looks distraught, the collapsed and charred remains of the grove are just visible behind him and it’s the most miserable thing Shane has ever seen. “Ryan?” He asks, slipping sadly from sleep. Obi grumbles petulantly in his hold and Shane lets him wiggle free to sniff at Ryan.

“Shane, oh my God Shane.” He chokes out, on the verge of tears. Shane keeps himself still as Ryan flutters his hands over him, palms skimming every part of him he can reach. He’s tired, and his eyes sting from the clearing smoke and the tears he’s shed.

“We’re okay Ry. We’re okay.” He tries to placate him, but his voice is hoarse and pitiful. His heart seizes painfully in his chest when Ryan runs a hand through his unruly hair, cupping his face in his palms.

“I'm so sorry.” Ryan says, eyes jumping over Shane's face like he's still checking for wounds. “I got your notes I was gonna- I was- and I got your warning-” His tongue trips and stumbles over his explanation but Shane doesn't need it, he smiles, leaning into the soft hold Ryan has on him. It feels like a dream. He can cope. So long as he has Obi and Ryan he hasn't truly lost anything.

Ryan's smile is watery but beautiful, his dark eyes wide and full of something Shane can't name but it makes him feel warm all over just the same. Ryan shifts, gaze dropping to his mouth and Shane feels his breath hitch, head spinning. He thought he'd lost this, lost Ryan.

“See boys,” a voice rings out, bouncing off the trees, “I told you it would work.” The petite girl’s voice rings like a bell as she gloats to her glassy eyed lackeys. “When in doubt flush ‘em out.” She too is covered in ash and it occurs to him that she’s been there the whole time, watching him frantic and distraught over her own handiwork. Something sparks off of her, her eyes darting around the scene manically.

Shane scrambles to his feet, swaying slightly as blood rushes to his head. Ryan steadies him with an arm around his waist, his face livid. Obi hisses, hackles raised where he spits and growls from behind their ankles.

“Who the fuck are you?” Shane spits, anger bubbling to the surface as quickly as flame had engulfed his home. This strange woman has tormented him for weeks, to finally destroy his one and only safe haven. The woman snarls at him.

“You think I’d give my name to someone like you?” She spits and Shane grips tightly at Ryan’s forearm to stop him from lurching toward her.

“There’s still plenty harm someone _like me_ could do without your name.” Shane fires back, watches intently as the woman starts to seethe, practically shaking with it.

The air crackles with something like electricity and by the way Ryan is standing, back rigid, he can feel it too. He looks closely at the woman across from him. She looks adrift, arms crossed tightly across her chest. She seems just so angry, but sadness drips from her like rain water. He glances at the two men behind her, they haven’t spoken, haven’t so much as moved, their faces impassive and blank. Their eyes are vacant and glassy.

Something clicks, something like recognition and Shane sucks in a sharp breath.

“Someone like _us_.” He breathes, taking a step forward. “You’re a witch.” He says. The woman shakes her head vehemently, on the edge of tears, tough facade quickly crumbling.

“No.” She spits, but her eyes are wide and fearful. “I’m nothing like you.” It’s tinged with hatred but all Shane can hear is the terrified wobble of her voice.

The two men behind her shuffle agitatedly and Shane’s gaze is drawn to them, their eyes no longer vacant but confused. They glance around, fearful and bemused before turning and fleeing. Their quick exit confirms his suspicions and he doubts they'll have any recollection as to how they got there.

“You're not just a witch,” Shane says, taking another step forward, “you're Fae.” She flinches, her reaction akin to being insulted. She starts to unravel, all her feral fear and hatred dropping away to expose thin threads of despair. “No!” She cries and the denial incites so much rage in him that his hands begin to shake. He knows the damage self hatred can bring he just never thought he'd lose his home to someone else's.

“Compelling those men took _magic_ .” He starts, taking another halting step forward. “Burning my home to the ground took _magic_.”

All he feels is anger and pity. This girl is just a stranger, someone lost and directionless who’s grown to loathe the most magical part of herself. But it doesn’t give her the right to tear down someone else’s happiness, their safe haven. It’s selfish pure and simple.

“You have magic,” He says, accusingly, “you’re like us, like _me_. Just tell me why, what possessed you, in all your anger and spite, to target me of all people and with the one thing you hate so much.”

He can’t begin to fathom it. It’s nonsensical, a stab in the dark. She stands silently opposite him and she cries, eyes wide and horrified. She opens and closes her mouth to speak but no sound escapes. Ryan grants her mercy, looking at her with nothing but pity and tenderness. Not for the first time Shane marvels at Ryan’s compassion. He had loved the grove almost as much as Shane and when standing opposite the person who took it from them he shows only empathy, a willingness to understand.

“She’s been taught to reject it.” He says simply and she glances at him in surprise, as if she’d been expecting them to tear her apart now that her lackeys have come to their senses and left her behind. “I’m right aren’t I?” He asks and her head twitches almost involuntarily in a nod.

“I- it’s not right I-” She stutters out but it sounds simply rehearsed, no conviction just resignation plaguing her voice.

“I’ve heard it all before.” Shane says, cutting her off, his voice soft and tired. “From myself mostly.” Her eyes widen, surprised that Shane had at one time felt similarly. “It’s hard to be proud of a part of yourself you constantly have to hide, of a heritage you know nothing about. No one knew the answers to the questions I had about being Fae. All we had were fairy tales. Fairy tales that tell you you were born wicked, a liar, a fraud.” He glances back at Ryan who meets his eye with a guilty gaze. Shane simply shakes his head and smiles. “Magic I could accept. It was a tool, it was as good as what you used it for. It wasn't until I met other witches, that I learnt that it's more than that, it's an undeniable part of me that I can't change.” He reaches out to Ryan and he takes his hand, fingers twining together as if they've always existed in a knot, tying them together.

“Being Fae was harder. My family didn't embrace it, didn't know what it meant. The only person who did was my babcia, my grandmother, but she passed before she could share her knowledge, too aware of how little our world can tolerate let alone embrace.”

“Hate it if you want, hell I do most of the time. I hate how other witches will judge me based on a fable. I hate how I may never know what I'm capable of or of my ancestry. I hate that entirely by accident I might deprive a loved one of their free will. I hate how much I don't know, but I love that these things give me an opportunity to learn and grow, to prove people wrong, learn about the history of people like.” Shane sucks in a breath, word tumbling from him earnest and true. “Magic is a part of me. Being Fae is a part of me. Running away from that ends in misery. Look at where we are.”

The girl looks around her, tears falling fast and hot and tear tracks turning to rushing rivulets. Shane watches as she takes in the devastation around her and she crumbles further.

“I'm sorry.” She gasps. “You had everything I wanted, everything they said someone like me couldn't have. That's all I know. I'm sorry. I destroyed everything, your home-”

“Stop.” He says shortly. He’s too tired. No amount of apologies will bring his home away from home back. Her remorse seems genuine enough but he doesn’t have the energy to hear her grovel, to be bombarded by her guilt and not be worn away. “I’m not angry anymore. I’m just tired.” Ryan’s hand slides back into his own and he turns to face him. “We can rebuild,” he says and Ryan’s face lights up at the use of the word ‘we’, his own forgiveness in a simple two letter word, “hedges can be regrown and flowers replanted. Grow, learn. That's all you can do. All any of us can do.”

The girl doesn’t speak, just watches them stunned, as if she’d expected to be punished somehow. He sighs. It’s not his job to set her on the right path. “Get out of here.” He says not unkindly. She nods and turns to leave, traipsing back along the path, pace quickening with every step she takes until she’s running out of sight.

Shane turns to survey the smouldering remains of the grove as Obi sniffs curiously at the debris. Ryan looks too, anguish plastered across his face.

“I’m sorry.” He says and Shane knows that it’s for more than just the home he’s lost, it’s for judging him, for allowing misconceptions and his fear of the unknown get between them, for turning Shane away without giving him a chance to show him who he truly is. “I was going to come and see you. I did all this research and planning. I was gonna try and beg for your forgiveness and sweep you off your feet.” Shane smiles, rubs an embarrassed hand across his chin. He kicks at the rubble and bends down, picking up the charred remnants of his broomstick. He hands it to Ryan.

“Better get sweepin’ then Ry guy.”

 

* * *

 

“Obi” Shane shouts from across the grove, elbow deep in dirt as he scowls at his mischievous cat. “If you put your paw in that concrete again I’ll turn you into a squirrel.” Replanting the small herb garden has taken twice as long as it needs to because Shane’s rambunctious familiar keeps dipping his delicate toe beans into the concrete foundations of the new fence posts. Ryan shoos him away from the makeshift construction site, smiling as he quickly becomes distracted by a butterfly. He pauses, casting an eye on their little weekend project proudly. Shane tells him every day that the grove will be bigger and better than ever, with room for all of them and even better WiFi. Ryan doesn’t need to be convinced as he watches Shane straighten from where he’d been bent over the new bed for the hydrangeas, his hair is damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead and the nape of his neck. The knees of his tattered jeans are caked in mud and there’s a stripe of dirt across the bridge of his nose and flecks of it cover his cheekbones and forehead like freckles. He’s beautiful and Ryan watches in awe as he plants the bulbs, the soil glowing a beautiful baby blue as he shifts the dirt on top, burying the plant firmly. He nurtures every plant with such elegance and tenderness that he’s sure the grove will thrive for years to come.

Ryan’s breath catches when Shane finally leans back, satisfied with his work, and catches Ryan’s gaze. He smiles that charming lopsided smile, boyish and joyful and beckons him over so enthusiastically that even Obi trots over, curious as to what’s got his owner so excited. Shane grabs Ryan’s hands as soon as he’s close enough and presses them to the soil. “Let’s give them a little nudge.” He says and Ryan grins as they focus on the newly planted bulbs until small green sprouts start to spring up from the earth.

They haven’t seen her since. The girl who burnt Shane’s sanctuary to the ground. They never really want to. Something like that can be forgiven but never forgotten, the fact that she has magic, that she’s part fae, does nothing to repair that damage. Even as Shane and Ryan set about repairing the grove, nurturing it into a shared home, crafting it with their magic and their hearts, the reason why they’re starting anew doesn’t escape them.

Few believe in magic and fewer of them still would let them flourish in peace. There may come a day where magic is just as heavily ingrained in society as it is in the souls of every witch but Ryan and Shane hope for nothing but each other, content to build a safe haven in the forest, make it their home, if it means they can continue to make magic together.

Shane removes his hands from the soil, loose dirt falling from his fingertips as he cups Ryan’s face in his palms. The look Shane is giving him is so saccharinely sweet that Ryan wrinkles his nose in mock disgust. “Suck up the sap Bergara,” he says rolling his eyes “you chose to date me. Completely of your own volition, might I add. No fae-brand trickery to be seen.” Ryan kisses him, lips pressed to a smiling mouth. He kisses him and kisses him until the bright afternoon sun turns the back of Shane’s neck a ruddy pink. Ryan kisses him, of his own free will of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think here or over on my tumblr [@mercury-skies](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/)


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